A whiter shade of pale
by LumCheng
Summary: Matt x Mello XXX yaoi, dark, drama, lemon XXX Just about the events after the accident, when Mello was hurt badly. XxX finally FINISHED! XxX
1. Yellow

**A whiter shade of pale**

Author: LumCheng (May'07 - July'08)  
Translators: Nifen, Ito-chan, Suki (germ. to engl.)  
Betareaders: BJA Fan, flagfish  
Website: lumcheng./profile  
Chapter: 1/10  
Fandom: Death Note  
Disclaimer: DN and the characters are not mine, blabla!  
Pairing: Matt x Mello  
Rating: MA  
Warnings: yaoi, angst, drama, dark, lemon, action, violence  
C&C: LumCheng(at)web.de

**xXxXxXxXxXxXx**

"Mello? Mello, look at me!"

No! No, I don't want to!

His voice sounds articulate, clear, and authoritative. I like his voice… usually.  
But not when his voice is like this.  
It hurts. I want to be alone. To simply sleep.  
Or die. It doesn't matter. As long as it doesn't hurt any longer.

"Mello…"

His voice is softer now.

"Mello, I'm turning on the light now. I can barely see anything."

"No!"

In panic, I try to get up to stop him, but I overestimate my strength and fall down. The collision with the floor hurts. I'm furious. The rustling of his clothes tells me that he's approaching me, despite my having forbidden him to do so.

"Stay away!"

I crawl back haggardly, hissing low when he kneels in front of me, like you do with a sick, hurt little animal.  
But his scent is fantastic, and for a moment, I close my eyes and breathe in softly, for the sake of forgetting everything else for just two seconds. But again, he can't stop touching me, and I flinch, startled.

"Fuck you, Matt!"

His hand, resting on my right shoulder, moves on and softly strokes my neck and finally my right cheek.

"Tss. Even now you cuss like a sailor. It seems you still have the strength to swear…"

He sounds slightly amused, while I'd like to hit the roof out of pain. Livid, I stave off his hand and immediately regret the impetuous movement.

"Back off! I won't tell you again."

"Nope. I didn't end up coming here to have you rant at me, Mello. I was told you were dead."

A long pause follows this sentence. Only now do I realize just HOW quiet it is here… here in this hole. Like some dirty street-mutt I dwelled here for days. Supporting myself with stolen medicine, avoiding the raunchy shower. I smell like a tramp, not to mention that I feel like half my body is fucked up. Nearly the complete left half… one single large wound. I disgust myself.

"How bad is it?"

"I can handle it. Now back off and leave me alone."

"I can see that…"

His voice rings mockingly, and I hear him taking off his vest in the semi-darkness.  
I don't want anybody to see me in this state. Especially not Matt.

"Can I put this somewhere without being in danger of getting scabies when I put it back on?"

"No, so you better put it back on now and then—ohh! Damnit!"

Immediately, he's back by my side. I squeeze my right eye shut in protest and start ranting again, when the blue light of his mobile phone is thrown on me.

"Oh my God!"

He sounds aghast. Yeah, most likely I would be too, if I were in his place. But luckily, there are no mirrors around. I don't want to know what my face looks like at all. The sight of the rest of my body is already sickening enough.

"Why haven't you…? Okay, forget it. It doesn't matter, I'm here now. Is there any clean water here?"

"Forget it! I don't need your help!"

"I know that, Mello. So? Where do I find water, clean sheets, and the first-aid-kit?"

The presumptuousness of this man is really amazing. He switches on the light. Oh joy! Didn't I tell him not to? But I'm quite surprised that he found the cord…  
Weak, yellowish light feebly illuminates the filthy room where I temporarily live. The single light bulb keeps on swinging for a little while until it sways to a stop and hangs down in a straight line, flickering slightly.

"Forgot to pay the electricity bill?"

"Stop fooling around!"

He searches for things I don't have. Clean water? Here? Really… While he looks around I crawl to the table and grab the small orange tube with the white tablets. Reputedly painkillers, but somehow they either aren't effective, are too weak, or don't work with me because I'm used to stronger stuff. Fantastic. I drag and turn the lid until it finally pops open and then take two of the little pills, swallowing them without chewing.  
He returns and puts the first-aid kit next to me on the floor. Then he takes off his goggles.  
Okay, he's serious. He's really serious about this! I can't believe it…

"I should have found you earlier."

He speaks so quietly that I have to make an effort to understand him, though there are no background noises. Not even the cliché dripping water tap. No ticking clocks, no humming fridge. I haven't eaten for days.

"No. You never should have come. I died a week ago."

Instead of an answer, he silently starts to peel me from the remnants of my leather vest. The hours that follow are painful and humiliating, and I don't know if I will ever forgive him… not yet…

_**-tbc-**_

_Mjah , what do you think? It's the first time I puplish a fic in engl. T-T__  
__I hope you like it. Lum_


	2. Darkred

**A whiter shade of pale**  
-Part 2-

_Hm, somehow this is going to be longer than I planned. There will be kinds of Lemon, but not right now ;)  
And thank you so much for your reviews, I really appreciate this :)  
__Thanks to Billie for the beta :)  
_

**xXxXxXx**

"Can you sit up properly?"

I try, and he helps me. Help… from others… I have never liked to enlist the assistance of someone, but this time it seems unavoidable.  
And Matt is my best friend. More than that…  
That's why him seeing me like that is so awkward for me.  
I know a story of a man with an ugly face. He always wore a mask, and one day, a girl fell in love with him. Later, she forced him to take off the mask. She got scared and ran away.  
The next day, the man read in the newspapers that the girl had cut out her eyes.  
Will Matt cut out his eyes as well when he's done here?  
I peer into his earnest face.  
No, Matt won't do such a thing. Without eyesight, you can't play video games.

"How did you manage to stand it these last days?"

It's not a question he expects an answer to.  
His voice is near my right ear. His warm breath tickles a little.  
He looks at my back and carefully leans me against a table leg. Then he starts to unlace my trousers.

"Don't…"

"How else am I supposed to examine your thigh?"

"Not at all."

"Mello, please… don't be such a baby. I know you don't wear any underwear, and God knows it's not the first time I see you naked."

"But it was different back then…"

He makes a little noise and sits down to have a better look at me, despite his skepticism concerning the cleanliness of these rooms.

"What is it that you're afraid of, Mello?"

I don't answer and look away. The left half of my face burns and hurts like hell. I had thought that I would get used to the pain in the course of a few days, but that's not the case.  
I don't even dare to touch it in any way, to clear it of the dirt and the splinters. These last few days, I only applied some loose, gluey gauze compresses.  
Matt moves closer.  
His dark red hair appears dull and lackluster in the scattered light.  
My own hair is scorched in parts and decidedly shorter on the left side than on the right. I really must look disastrous.

"Do you think I like you less now than before?"

"…"

"Yes, you do believe that. Incredible… As if an accident could change anything."

"But look at me. I'm ugly!"

Thinking of that hurts as much as the wounds do themselves. I'm not vain. A scratch here and there or even a chanced gunshot wound – as long as it heals neatly, it's not a problem for me. But a burn of this size?!

"No, you're not. Not to me."

Matt is most likely the only person to say nice things about me with a frightening practicality that I will surely never understand.  
He changes the topic.

"Mello, I'm gonna have to bring you away from here. Here you can't get well—most likely you'll get worse. I came with a car. Do you think you can make it downstairs?"

"Sure… I did manage to get up here alone somehow."

He nods, gets up, and fetches his jacket, which he shakes twice before putting it back on. The goggles he puts on too, and pushes them up his bangs. Then he places his right leg behind my back, moves the table away, and shoves his arms under mine. The next moment I find myself standing upright, and I'm glad that he still holds me or else I probably would have collapsed onto the floor.  
I'm surprised at his strength. Even though I'm older and taller than him, he was able to get me up seemingly effortlessly.  
With the upper part of my body bare, the trouser half open in front, and my right arm latched to his neck, I stumble down the three flights of stairs next to him.  
Once downstairs, he drags open the heavy front door and shoves me outside.  
The cool night air does my lungs good, but not my wounded skin.  
Groaning, I sag against the house wall.

"Hey, don't collapse… c'mon. The car's right over there, that's where you can sit down."

It's more him carrying me than me walking on my own.  
But finally we've made it. Unbelievable, but I'm sitting in the car.

"Be careful with your left shoulder blade. Better not lean against the back of the seat. Here… hold fast to this. Okay."

The door closes, and he goes around the car to the driver's side and gets in. Droning, the motor starts up, and he drives away.

"What time is it?"

"Almost two… why?"

"Just asking."

I look out of the window. Houses, debris, and factories fly by.  
Surely there aren't many people who have someone who cares this much for one. What normal person would go searching for a friend that is believed dead at 2 a.m. in the morning?  
Matt hadn't given me up, and somehow this is something that I'm proud of. That someone is doing so much for me…  
Beyond all doubt, I would do the same for him, but to experience it yourself how important you are to someone else…

Eventually, he stops the car in a dark alleyway and turns off the engine.

"Here we are."

_**-tbc-**_


	3. White

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**  
-Part 3-

_Thanks for your feedback, sweeties. That makes me very happy :)  
By the way, I forgot to mention it last time: The story Mello remembers about the ugly man and the girl does really exist. It is called "The man with the mask" and was written by Klabund. (Does anybody know Klabund? This man rocks!)_

**xXxXxXx**

I let go of the handhold above the window and try to recognize anything outside. It's definitely not our apartment. Of course, he had thought that I was dead. I wouldn't be surprised if he had moved to a new place, somewhere not so expensive.

"Is this where you live?"

"It's where WE live. Temporarily. Just for as long as it takes till you're well again, and we can move back to our old apartment."

Questioningly, I look at him.

"I considered it sensible to hide here for a while. I believe the loft is being observed."

Deep down, he's right. There's nothing wrong in making the world go on in its belief that I no longer exist.  
The door beside me opens, and he helps me leave the car. The cold makes me shiver. I hope it's warm inside the apartment.  
I catch a glimpse at my surroundings. A plain narrow alleyway. The asphalt is still wet from the rain, there's almost no light, a few overflowing garbage cans stand here and there, and further down the alleyway, there's a pile of old cardboard boxes.

"Matt… you got any stuff here?"

"Of course not. I don't take any of it, you know that. But I can try to provide something for you. Later."

Later… when is later? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow? Next month?  
The burned flesh tingles as the wind blows a few hairs there. My fingertips dig into the rough wall of the house while he unlocks the door.

"…I can't take it any longer…"

My voice is flattened to a whisper, and I feel him carefully placing one arm around my waist and dragging me along.  
Climbing up the stairs is torture, but somehow we manage to reach the apartment two flights up. Panting, I rest myself upon the first thing I get hold of. A table.  
He locks the door and disappears into an adjoining room. I take a quick survey. Sparse but clean.  
Besides the small round table I'm leaning on right now, there is another larger one in the middle of the room. Low and long – perfect for dining. Food…  
I lick my lips nervously. For a split second my eyes fall upon the dark, worn leather sofa, the TV, and the games consoles. So like Matt.  
He returns, sweeping the opened snacks from the coffee table with a single movement, and spreads a large towel on it.

"Come here. Lay down so I can have a closer look at the injuries."

Slowly, I straighten myself and look at him. My body feels heavy, everything hurts, I'm hungry and thirsty… tired, too. This life sucks. But right there stands the man who will try to mend it. It can't get worse than it is now, can it?

"Mello? Did you hear what I said?"

I realize that all this time I had looked right behind him. He sighs and comes over to me. Again he fiddles about the complicated lacing of my leather-trousers. I allow it.

"C'mon… over there. Sit down."

His voice is quiet but determined. I have seldom witnessed an occasion where he takes the lead. He doesn't like doing this, and relinquishes the executive position to others, does what he is told… what **I** tell him…  
I sit down on the narrow table and feel the hard wooden top through the corded towel beneath me. He kneels and gently pulls down the trouser over my knees and removes them completely. There are a few small spots on the left thigh but the skin there is mostly reddened.  
Without a word he gets up and I stare at my feet in thoughts. If even I loathe myself… how is it with others? He does all this impassively, of course. Without abhorrence, without doubt. He reappears and carries with him a bowl, cloths and a white box.

"May I… eat something first?"

"Aren't you rather thirsty?"

"Well, yes. Do you have chocolate?"

He casts me a side glance and fetches a small lamp, which stands next to the TV. My left shoulder tingles.

"No, but you'll live. After all, I haven't had a cigarette for hours as well."

That sounds plausible, but nonetheless I feel like I'm getting worse by the minute and have the hope that chocolate might change that.  
My mouth goes dry. He brings me a glass of water and after I finish it, he removes his vest, lays his goggles on the floor, and dips one of the white cloths into the bowl. Slowly and cautiously, he starts washing my thigh, the hip, the upper arm and my left shoulder. The cold water is soothing, the rough cloth less so.  
Silence surrounds us as he opens the first-aid-kit and takes out some burn ointment. I watch him apply the ointment at the burned parts and place band-aids on the larger injuries.  
The silence is maddening me, the pain even more so.

"Aren't there any painkillers in the kit?"

He looks up hesitantly.

"The water you just drank contained some. It should have already taken affect, actually…"

"I still feel as shitty as before."

I close my eyes and try to think of something else. But the burning and the throbbing don't cease, and to me it appears as if the pain is the only feeling that exists. When I reopen my eyelids the room blurs. I sway to the side.

"Hey… Shit!"

I feel him forcing me gently down on the table. But the worst is yet to come… my face. Oh my God, I must not think of it. I keep my eyes shut and try to guess from the soft noises what he's doing and what comes next.  
Ultimately it's quiet for too long in my opinion, and I look up at the ceiling before I slowly turn my face to the side and see that he has placed the lamp in such a way as to make its light fall on my face. I blink and notice the scissors in his hand. A slight panic rises in me. What does he want with them?  
He seems to notice my disquiet and smirks a little.

"I'm only going to cut a bit of your hair."

But then, I see uncertainty on his face for the first time. I feel his gaze moving slowly over the burnt flesh, peering minutely at everything.  
The muted snipping sounds uncommonly loud in the silence of the room, but it ends soon. My stomach cramps at the thought of what comes next.

"Matt…?"

"Shh!"

Nervous he wipes the palms of his hands clean on his trousers and takes some thin tweezers. The beating of my heart suddenly speeds up and I erratically lick my parched lips.

"Close your eyes."

I do it almost immediately and instantly feel his left hand on my face. Carefully, he places it on my right cheek, his thumb pressing gently in the small deepening next to my nose. I breathe through my mouth and feel my own warm respiration on my lips as it's detained a little by his hand.  
Suddenly a searing pain next to my left eye rips through me and makes me jolt, startled. I pant and open my eyes.

"Don't, keep still."

He sounds disturbed, and from the corner of my eyes, I see how concentrated he is as he stares at my face. Pain shoots through me again, and I bite my lower lip while inhaling fiercely through the nose as my fingers clench on the towel underneath me.  
The grip of his left hand increases.  
The next few minutes are hell and I ask myself why I can't simply faint.  
Finally I really can't bear it any longer.

"No, stop it…"

"Mello, this is important! It's already infected enough, you can call yourself lucky that you still have your left eye!"

"Then give me something, damnit! I feel like my head is going to explode at any moment!" He takes his hands off me and sits back on his heels.

Edgily, he looks at me.

"You _will_ go through it, God damnit! I have no idea where to get drugs or painkillers on the spot."

I sit up a little and feel the blood running down my cheek and dripping from my jaw.  
The towel is already deep red and wet where my head rested just a moment before.

"Why doesn't the fucking stuff you put in the water take effect? …There was nothing in the water, was there? You just tricked me!"

With a jerk he gets up and casts an angry glance at me. In the meantime he rakes up his trouser pocket until he produces a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He takes out one, lights it, and inhales deeply.  
While he blows out the smoke, he puts back the pack of cigarettes.

"You know what, Mello? Sometimes you really make me sick!"

With this he turns away and walks to the window.  
Shocked and breathing heavily, I stare into space. Is he going to let me bleed to death? The wet, stinging feeling on the left half of my face makes me mad, and I'd love to bang my head against the wall or freeze it… anything, so long as I can make the crappy feeling and the pain go away.  
A cool breeze makes me shiver. I turn around slowly.  
He stands at the open window and smokes his cigarette. His forearms rest on the sill, the point of the right boot tapping nervously on the floor.  
I turn back again and look around me absent-mindedly. What now?  
Hesitantly, I lift my left hand.

"Don't!"

He returns and presses my wrist down. I look into his eyes and lean back.

"Don't touch it."

Quietly, he kneels down and proceeds.

What I'd like best now is to cry.

_**-tbc-**_

_Hm, I don't know if I managed to make the point I intended to make. But I hope you liked it. See ya next time and stay tuned ;)  
Thanks again, Billie, for the beta :)__  
__Lum_


	4. Black

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**  
-Part 4-

_First of all, I want to apologize for the delay. I was busy partaking in a few competitions plus I started to work as editor for several scanlations to this wonderful pairing. I should start to prioritize, especially as I really like this fic.Thank you very much for your kind feedback, that I receive daily either here or per e-mail. I'm really happy that you like this story and tell me so.  
__But this wouldn't be possible without Nifen, therefore I say a big Thank you to her here for her translations._

**xXxXxXx**

The rain pours softly against the window, and I look out. Almost nothing is discernible, but it feels good to direct my view to something that moves and seems alive.  
Quietly, I watch the raindrops run down the pane and vanish glitteringly in the rubber joint.  
The weak light of the street lamps hardly reaches here, but it's not completely dark.

I don't know how long I've been sitting here alone.  
Once he had dressed my wounds completely, he went away do get some food and beverages. It's the middle of the night, but if he says that he wants to go shopping right now, he probably knows where to get something this late.  
I didn't dare ask him again for some drugs, but now I wish I had done it.  
The left half of my face hurts like hell. It stings and throbs and every other moment it feels like a huge, searing wave of pain washes over that part. Again and again.

Sometimes, when I can barely stand it, I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane... I crash my fist against the wall, dig my nails in the rough surface, press the right part of my forehead so hard against it that I'm distracted from my burn for a few seconds. But it's no use. My thoughts constantly drift back to the pain, and I feel like I'm going crazy.

Restless, I get up and wander around the darkened apartment. I pull the thin woolen blanket he gave me closer around myself, as I need new clothes first. Groaning, I drop on my knees and curl myself up in a corner, smash my hands against the wall, and bite the inside of my right cheek.  
The door clicks, and I hear the rustle of bags. But all this I notice only marginally. The whirring headache prevails.

Only when the light gets brighter, I look around unwillingly.  
He approaches me and kneels down slowly and carefully.

"Hey... I'm back. I hurried. Is everything okay with you?"

He sounds worried, and I know he really is, but all this is of little use if it doesn't make the pain go away.

"C'mon... you need to eat something. I even bought you milk..."

Milk! Am I a cat?!  
Slowly he extends one arm in my direction, and I press myself deeper into the corner. I don't want to eat now. And I don't want to be touched. And I definitely don't want to drink milk! All I want him to do is to give me something so that I can sleep... or be high. Whatever it is, main point being that I can forget.

"Mello."

His voice sounds pleading.

"Get off!"

Hissing, I tuck up my legs and keep hold of the blanket.  
Instantly he drops his arm, only to scoot even closer and embrace me against my will.  
Only moments later, I stand shakily beside him, and he pushes me in the direction of the dining table. I fall onto the sofa feebly.

"You have to eat something if you wanna feel better soon."

"But I'm not hungry!"

"That doesn't matter."

Suspiciously I watch him unpack his groceries. Mostly ready-to-serve-meals. Microwave lasagna, instant noodles, packet soup, a few snacks, milk, coke, and... chocolate!  
I eye the bar with increasing interest, and he recognizes my look. He looks at me deliberately and straightens himself.

"You want chocolate? 'kay... You can have it."

But? I look up and cast him a quizzing glance.

"But only if you eat something warm first."

"You're not my mother."

"I'm your friend, and as your friend, I at least know what's good for you at the moment and what's not."

"Fast food and ready-to-serve meals are good for me?"

"Unfortunately I can't cook you something fresh and guarantee that it's edible, therefore you'll have to take potluck."

Frustrated, I lean back on the sofa and sigh.

"Well, okay, then get ready to heat some water..."

He nods and bends forward to take a cup of noodles, when he suddenly grips his left side with his right hand and makes a face. Hastily he grabs the noodles and gets up again to go to the small kitchen.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, only got some stitches..."

I don't believe his words and would have liked to see if everything really was okay, but I don't have the strength and the will to cope with him.  
And do I have a reason to mistrust him? Has he a reason to lie to me? I don't know, all I know is that right now everything sucks.  
I should start to think over how things should be once I'm well again.  
To catch Kira before Near does.  
Sounds good, but how am I supposed to do it? Nearly all of my people had been killed before or during the explosion.  
Find a new gang? Shouldn't be too difficult in L.A. The city is swarming with criminals and dubious people.

I lift up my eyes and look around me. How long is he going to take? What about my food?  
After a few more minutes, I finally get up and slowly walk to the kitchen. The opened cup of noodles is on the counter, and the electric kettle has stopped heating automatically after boiling.  
But there's no trace of him. Hesitantly I turn around, leave the kitchen, and head towards the bathroom.

The door is ajar, and the light burns inside.  
I push it open and see him standing in front of the mirror, his thin sweater pushed up with his left hand while his right takes care of his left hip.  
Appalled, he looks up when he notices me and drops his sweater. But I have already seen it and carefully rest against the door frame.  
He swallows hard.

"So you're hungry already, then? The water should be boiling by now..."

"What happened, Matt?"

"L-little argument..."

"Seems to be pretty cleanly sewed up for a little argument."

"Yeah... I was at the – I went straight to see someone who could help me with it."

"Don't talk bullshit, Matt! Tell me the truth."

He rakes his fingers through his hair and hesitantly looks at me through the mirror.

"I have money... you wanted something against the pain after all. I'll go immediately and get you something."

Money? I know that he never had much. When we rented an apartment together, I had this Mafia thing going on, so I paid for most of our things. But that was okay. He's my best friend, he always helps me, he does everything I tell him to do, he would die for me.  
At the moment, I don't have money, but I know how to get some...

"You have money?"

"Mhm."

"From where?"

My face itches as a stinging pain sears through my left cheek.  
He hesitates. However, I already know the answer.

"I..."

Furious, I rush towards him and press his shoulder blades against the white bathroom tiles.  
The blanket slides down to the floor at this sudden movement, and I stand in front of him naked. Shivering, crying, angry and torn with feelings of guilt.

"Are you completely nuts?!! You really sold one of your kidneys for me??!"

_**-tbc-**_

_I'm such a drama-queen :( Sorry for that. I hope you like it anyway – And THANKIES to Billie for the beta –hugs-__  
__Lum_


	5. Blue

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**  
-Part 5-

_First a BIG, BIG sorry for the late update. I know... 2 months. Shame on me! I hope you're still interested. Enjoy.  
And thanks to flagfish, who helped me with this chapter. OMG, meanwhile I can barely imagine to write english stuff without you, lol._

**xXxXxXxXx**

I know he's saying something, but I can't hear him.  
Only the disgusting growl of the strained choking sounds in my throat resound in my head.  
But eventually he gets through to me.

"….ah…Mello…don't…stop, it hurts….Mello…!"

I sniff and bite my lip and retreat back a little, releasing him at last.  
Did I really grab him that hard?  
He averts his gaze, rubbing his upper arm.  
Very slowly, I extend my hand toward him again and roll up the loose edge of his jumper. I gaze at the scar for a long time, resisting the urge to touch it. I release the fabric instead and then let my arm flop lifelessly at my side.  
Shoulders drooping, I stand before him, my gaze wandering relentlessly around the small bathroom, but I can't really get myself to stare at anything else.

Just him.

"Why—"

I stop mid-sentence, because my tone sounded odd, even to myself. So I try again.

"Why'd you do it? There are so…so many…other ways…to get money…you and I both know what you're capable of, so….so why like this…?"

"I've sworn never to do those things again, you know that."

"Damn it, Matt! This isn't some hokey romance movie! What the hell is the deal with this whole act of self-sacrifice?! God, you're so stupid! So fucking stupid!"

I turn away, brushing the back of my right hand across my face.  
Selling organs. What in the hell…?! Does he want to get himself killed?

"What else do you do for money? You jerk off in one of those plastic cups to sell your sperm when you're low on cash?"

"You know, Mello…this isn't exactly a time for your biting sarcasm…"

"Fuck's sake, Matt! Stop with all the bullshit and grow the hell up!"

I pause for a moment, and then I remember something else.

"And would you please, for the love of God, get me this shit already – I feel like my face is about to explode."

That said, I turn and walk out of the bathroom. The blanket is still there on the floor, but I don't feel cold anyway.  
I wander restlessly into the kitchen and stand at the counter, drumming my fingers against the wooden surface and realizing gradually that I'm not really hungry.  
I'll probably throw up anything I ate anyway.

A little while later I sit on the living room sofa, naked.  
And not long after that comes the sound of the front door clicking shut and I find myself alone.

"Bloody hell…"

I feel shittier than I ever have before. My best friend has sold his organs to help me and all I do is hurl insults at him.  
I really am pathetic.  
For several minutes I simply sit there and stare blankly into the room. And think about the two of us. And of him…

What's it like living with one kidney? You can definitely survive, but what are the consequences? Will life be different for him, like will he have problems with fluid concentration or metabolism or something, will he be okay? And what about the scar? How did he even manage to get back here at all? He'd definitely been away for several hours, but…wouldn't he be in pain too right now…?

My head is buzzing and starts to hurt from all these thoughts, but at least this took my mind off the pain for a little while.  
I get up carefully and walk toward the window.  
The sun will be up soon and it's been a long time since either of us got any sleep. I better get my meds soon or I'll go crazy.  
I don't know how long I'd been standing by the window when finally I hear the door behind me opening and then closing again, and then comes a series of soft gasps from the hallway.  
I turn around right away, but I can't make anything out in the darkness, as there aren't any lights on outside the living room. I take a few steps and then see him emerge from the nearby doorway.

"Matt…"

Bracing himself against the wooden panel with his right arm, he wipes at the blood on his face with the back of his left hand, and a moment later he stumbles inward in the general direction of the small coffee table to rest against it like I did when first I entered the apartment.  
What happened?

"… I… got… everything…"

The words issue forth strained and coarse from his split lips, and I can see that his shirt and waistcoat are partly torn and drenched in red fluid.  
He groans and grits his teeth as he grabs at his left side.

"What happened?"

"….they….they only thought they could…pull a fast one on me….but I got it…I have…"

I simply stand there and gaze at him. Listen to him. See him fighting back the pain. My mind has gone blank and I have no soothing words for him, no pity or sympathy. All I can think of is that right here, right now, he's got something to make me forget my own pain.

I have to get it!!

"What'd you get?"

I watch his forehead hit the tabletop, his breath coming fast and heavy. The short nails of his right hand claw at the hard surface, and he shudders.  
I'm starting to get impatient and agitated; this is really taking way too long. Why isn't he giving me the shit already, what's with this whole act? For a moment I feel the craziest urge to just knock him out with something so he'll go unconscious and I could search him.

"Where is it?"

I take two steps toward him, and then, with a great deal of effort, he straightens up a bit and slowly reaches in the left pocket of his waistcoat.  
He produces a small, nearly clear plastic bag and places it on the table, leaving me to open it. I reach out with my right arm without hesitation and step closer to the table, hastily pulling off the clip.  
Syringes, single-packed needles and a folded piece of white paper with a handful of red, and immensely large capsules.  
I'm speechless.  
With rage.

"That's it? Are you kidding me?"

He reaches for the inside pocket of his coat without a word and takes out a small bottle, placing it in the middle of the table.  
My eyes go big.  
Morphine.  
Wow…okay.

"What are these pills? Got no coke?"

He licks at his dry lips and remains quiet for a long time, and I find myself infinitely pissed off that he's suddenly so weak and vulnerable.

"They drug horses with it…"

"Horses?"

He gets up and begins waddling toward the hallway, but I no longer pay attention to him and his incoherent mumbling.

"... nh... water..."

I pick up one of the red pills and twirl it between my fingers before throwing it in, biting down on it twice and swallowing the bitter, crumbly stuff almost dry.  
I realize right away that I can't wait for it to take effect, if it will at all; my gaze falls on the bottle that Matt put on the table.  
Yeah, it isn't pure morphine of course, but it's a high-dose solution ready for injection.  
There comes the creeping feeling of fear when I think of falling back into addiction, but I know pretty well what it'll feel like. I'd finally be able to forget everything, the pain would disappear and I'd be able to sleep and feel high... no sorrow, just fly away…

I close my eyes for a brief moment and then turn around, and, bag in one hand and bottle in the other, I go looking for him. I need his belt, or something else to tie down my arm.

"Matt?"

There he is, in the kitchen.  
Lying on the floor like some bum passed out in the gutter, head leaning against the cupboard under the sink.  
I kneel down beside him and put my things on the floor, then casually begin fumbling with his belt.

"…hm? Wha—Mello…? Wow…I…I think it's really flattering of you to…"

His words are cut off by a fit of coughing, and I pull the dark strip of leather out from in-between the loops.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I just need something for my arm."

My gaze moves away from his face and onto his hand, lying motionless and still clutching an empty glass from which the water has long pooled onto the floor, and also a tablet, still in its original package.  
I grab the pill from him in disbelief and throw it at the corner.

"You've gotta be kidding me. Aspirin? You think that's gonna help the kind of pain you've got? God, Matt, you're so naive. Here, I've got just the thing…"

I can almost smell and hear his panic when I unwrap one of the sterile needles and begin attaching it to the syringe. I roll the sleeve of his right arm all the way up to his shoulder and bend the belt into a loop over his arm.

"….no…"

"Don't be such a baby. It's just one small prick."

"I don't want…"

"Would you just shut up already, you should be thanking me! Trust me, otherwise you'd flip out from the pain!"

He breathes hard and begins trying to sit up, clumsily fumbling away from me.  
I pick up the syringe in irritation and open the bottle to sink the needle in the soft stopper, turning both upside down and filling the syringe.  
I put the brown vial down against the floor with a loud clink and then snap my fingers against the tube to free the air bubbles, and then press the handle to squirt them out. My own dose will be much higher, but for him this'll do.  
I turn back to find that he's skidded all the way into the corner.

"Stop being stupid, Matt!"

"But I don't want it!"

"You won't become addicted, okay? Just give me your arm."

"No!"

I crawl to him on my knees and pull hard at his right arm, only to find that he's already loosened the loop partway.  
Unbelievable! I'm totally wasting my time with him!  
This whole time I've been in horrible pain and waiting to inject myself, but instead I have to deal with his childish bullshit.  
With the remainder of my strength I slap his hand away and pull the belt tight again, and then grab hold of his forearm. I squeeze it until I can see the veins protrude at the anticubital fossa.  
He struggles all the while, arm twitching and writhing, but I force him in place, far too agitated for pity or words of comfort.

"Keep still!"

I move the needle into place slowly, then prick the soft, compliant skin.

"Nhh…"

"Don't move."

"Mello! Mello!! Don't… no, stop it… please, Mello…"

"Shhh!"

"Don't do this… to me…"

I remove the needle with the empty syringe and feel his fingers closing tight around my hand. Then his whole body twitches and he begins breathing heavily. Only a few seconds and then his muscles go limp and his eyelids droop, and I watch him slump down against the cabinet, resting on the kitchen floor and breathing faintly.

I lay my head back and close my eyes. The pain is overwhelming and in a moment of self-punishment I savor it a little while longer before taking out a second syringe and a new needle, and then I do the whole thing again.  
Holding one end of the belt between my teeth, I insert the needle in the crook of my arm and push down the plunger.  
I feel it right away; something hot and stinging racing through my arm and spreading through my whole body. I let go of the leather and remove the needle at last, then slump backward against the wall.

Only a few seconds and then I feel my eyelids go heavy and a pleasant numbness takes over my body. I give in to the urge and close my eyes, and then everything goes warm and bright, and my body feels weightless. When I open them again, there's nothing but the incredible clear blue sky above me.

**_-tbc-_**

_I want to make mention of the fact that I never consumed drugs and therefore don't know what it feels like, how it affects someone, etc.  
Unfortunately there were no volunteering junkies available to tell me. laughs humourlessly  
Whatever, next chapter will star Matt's incredibly useful abilities. lol  
Lummy-_


	6. Grey

**A Whiter Shade of Pale  
**-Part 6-

_Yeah, another very late update. I'm SO sorry.  
A big thanks to Billie, who beta'd this chapter in no time, thanks dear!  
And there's still something missing in this chapter, but I'll write it in the next chapter -sigh-  
My new is so exhausting and I really have no freetime anymore, it really suxx...  
Anyway, enjoy!_

**xXxXxXxXx**

Freezing and twitching, I awake from a lovely dream.  
My nose runs, and everything feels numb and cold. There's a hammering pain and roaring behind my forehead.  
Slowly, I let my view slide through the kitchen and notice that I can hardly swallow, since my mouth and throat are too dry.  
A disgusting smell rises into my nose.

And where is he, actually?  
I painstakingly try to stand up, but fail.  
Finally, on all fours, I crawl to the kitchen door and pause when I see the puke on the ground in the corridor.  
Of course. He'd never taken drugs before. The dose was perhaps too much to start off with...

Laboriously, I pull myself up along the wall to avoid the vomit and tumble to the opposite wall. I can hardly feel my legs and feet. Everything is ice cold and hurts.  
Finally, the pain in my face fades away to a more endurable, dull pounding.

Choking, coughing, and splashing.  
So he's in the bathroom.  
I feel my way along the wall, try to not fall down again and peer carefully around the corner. He's kneeling there.  
In front of the toilet bowl—lid and toilet seat lifted up—puking up his guts.  
Probably only stomach acid is coming up. It's always like that.

Cautiously, I stand there, holding onto the doorframe and watching him.  
I could console him, pull his hair out of the way, pass him a towel—but I don't have the desire to do so.  
Since when did I stop caring what condition he was in?  
On one hand, I'm glad to have him and feel flattered that he does so much for me; on the other hand, he irritates me and his behavior is annoying, makes me angry and gets on my nerves.

''Are you ready?''

He remains silent. Doesn't answer. Then—

''Do you want something? Do you need to go to the toilet? Or are you thirsty or hungry?''

His voice is quiet but sounds normal. Why isn't he angry with me? I would if I were in his place, with the way I had been acting.

''Fuck you!''

I know that it's pointless, to provoke him meaninglessly, but I still do it on whim.  
Without waiting for his reaction, I turn around and go into the living room, where I sprawl on the couch and finally curl up carefully after a few moments.  
I'm thirsty... and a little hungry. And I'm cold too, but mostly, I'm tired. Such a trip is exhausting and tiring. I have to try to keep the doses as low as possible so I won't become dependent again. That's the last thing I need. To be addicted while my condition is already so miserable.

It's not long before he finally emerges in the living room, putting a steaming cup on the low table.

''This is instant soup... thought maybe you needed some now...''

I don't answer and just lie on my back, since I unfortunately can't lie on my left side, otherwise I'd just turn my back to him. He can take himself and his almost motherly attitude elsewhere.  
I'm still naked, and I'm quite aware of his sneaking looks sometimes; but it's not different before, and it's all the same to me.  
As long as he doesn't touch me, it's okay.

I close my eyes. The time passes by, and I still feel his presence.  
Why isn't he going away?  
I can hear everything—how he left the room, returned briefly, and kneels beside the couch.  
He gets a blanket and straightens it up over my cold body.  
After few instants I relax somewhat, since I can no longer feel the cold air in the room.  
Slowly, very slowly, it becomes slightly warmer under the blanket.

He's still there.  
I hear the quiet noise his tongue makes when he opens his mouth. And before he begins to speak, I know what he wants.

''Hey... Mello?''

I don't dare say anything at first, but it's no use to pretend to be asleep anyway, so I only hum approvingly, waiting for him to ask his absurd question.

"Could you... I think I could... I mean, do you mind, if I—"

''Forget it!''

Quietly, he breathes out through his nose.

''Okay.''

His clothes rustle beside me, and there's a low sigh.  
Then it's quiet.  
I open my eyes again.

I'm really a bitch, aren't I? I always act as if I'm the only one who suffers here and has to go through this shit.  
Surely, I could tell him that I'm sorry, and that I guess I appreciate what he does for me. Still, it would be cowardly to admit such a thing openly, so I remain silent and carefully turn my head to the side, only to see him on the cold, grey floor, his legs bent, and his right hand on his left hip over the sewn cut.

Further minutes elapse before he finally regards me, and I relent.  
Even if I can barely stand myself, I should at least give him the chance to try it if he wants to.

''Come here.''

My words are quiet and it takes a moment before he stands up carefully.  
Fortunately he doesn't hug me or anything.

''Put yourself on the other end and turn on your side.''

I know what he intends to do, and because we both can't lie on the left side of the narrow couch, it seems that this is the best solution.  
I do what he wants and pull the blanket away while I crawl to the other end and rest on the right side, looking at the backrest of the couch.

The cushion behind me sinks briefly, warm on my back.  
The scratchy material of the blanket on my skin, hot, damp breath on my neck... a cold hand on my hip.

''Matt...''

''I won't do anything...''

I breath loudly through mouth a few times before the strange feeling disappears and the heat on my cheeks is no longer so strong.  
Good. If he says he won't do anything, then he won't.  
Right?

_**-tbc-**_

_Okay, very disappointing, huh? I'm sorry. I hope the next chapter will be more exciting...  
Lum-_


	7. Blackandwhite

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**  
-Part 7-

_I knoooow, I know, it took freaking long. I'm sorry. I really am. But somehow this story has already ended in my head. I mean, I saw it like a movie already till the end and now I'm not that keen on writing a 'summary', if you know what I mean. But I'll try to finish this soon. Thank you, Kelly, for the beta!!_

** xXxXxXxXx**

When next I wake, it's late afternoon already.  
I'm all sweaty under the blanket, but at the same time also somehow cold and just plain miserable. I lie still for a long time, feeling him just behind my back and the arm of the sofa to the front; cramped and uncomfortable.

My nose is running, everything on me is sticky, I can't suppress the shivers that run through my body every now and then, and I wonder if he's not waking up because of it. But most likely he needs the rest just as much as I do and is probably just too exhausted.

I rise finally and begin to pull myself up, slowly, cautiously, using the back of the sofa as support, and swing one leg over and then the other, careful not to touch him as I gradually unravel myself from the sweaty warmth of the catchy blanket. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand beside the couch for a moment and wait for the dizziness to pass – the one that overcomes you when everything goes black.

And then I make my way to the kitchen and get a glass of water, along with another of those big, red capsules. Maybe it's best if I only shot up if the pain became unbearable. I already feel like doing it again now, but I'm still in my right mind enough to talk myself out of it.

My gaze falls on the things he bought and still hadn't put away – the junk food and soda. He knows damn well I don't like it. I like cocoa and juice. Pizza and chocolate. After swallowing the capsule I begin looking around the kitchen for some non-perishable milk.

Of course, there isn't any. He hates milk. But then I remember he said he brought me some. Well, where the hell is it then?  
I ask myself with all honesty how we've ever gotten along as well as we did. Do we have anything at all in common?  
The can feels heavy and cold in my left hand. I stare at it and it stares right back.

"No, we don't!", I spit angrily at the can and then bang it hard on the countertop by the sink. My fingers trace absently the contour of the other things there until finally I reach for the defrosted lasagne and put it in the microwave, setting it for only half the time or it would burn for sure. I then pick up the bottle of soda with distaste and grab two glasses before returning to the living room, making my way around the puke that's still there on the hallway floor.

It reeks.

He's still asleep, and, trying to figure out what to do, I stand in place for a moment—until suddenly there comes the beeping of the microwave, so I turn on my heels to go get the lasagne.

He goes on sleeping.  
I clean up the puke.  
He goes on sleeping.  
I put away the groceries.  
He goes on sleeping.  
I get myself something to wear from the only wardrobe he has, and…  
He goes on sleeping.

It's cold and I gaze down at my body: some dark shorts and one of his striped sweaters that's too large even for me. Should I put anything else on? It wouldn't hurt so much considering all my injuries are now covered in bandages.  
Wearing stuff isn't terribly comfortable, but hell, I'm freezing, so I reach again for the drawer and take out two single socks that appear to be clean. And then some loose sweatpants.

Upon closing the drawer I hear him grumble behind me—seems like he's gradually come to while I was getting dressed. My skin is painfully taught with all the stretching and turning, but I try not to think about it as at last I walk to the table.

"Hey, you're finally up? Food's getting cold…"

He rubs at his head and pulls the blanket unwillingly from his body.

"Hrm…"

"What's up? Not hungry?"

Did I heat all that shit up for nothing?  
He stifles a yawn and reaches across the table, sniffing at the food and finally grabbing the bottle of soda.  
He fills the two glasses up slowly and then pushes one in my direction.

"Drink. There's sugar in it."

"No shit…can you go get some plates and forks—if you actually have stuff like that, that is?"

He nods and goes to get stuff from the kitchen while I sit down on the couch and pull the still steaming lasagne over to me. It's a little black at the edges, but the rest seems to be fine.  
Somehow, I'm hungry.

"Hey, you cleaned and…wiped it up…"

"…yeah."

"Thanks."

"Mh."

With that we sit next to each other on the sofa and begin picking at the pasta sludge with our forks.

"You don't have plates, do you?"

"Hey, just be glad we have warm food and a place to stay, yeah?"

I turn my head and look straight at him.

"You know damn well how we could totally turn things around. You just gotta freaking do it. Damn it, Matt! I really don't get you! Can't you see I'm in no shape to bring home the big money right now? It's your turn now. Get off your ass and bloody do something already—but without freaking selling your body!"

He finishes chewing with his mouth half open, and then, pensively, lays the fork down on the table.

"You don't seem to get it. Do you."

He turns slowly to me, eyes hard and cold.  
There's no one I'm afraid of in this world. But there are times that he changes suddenly and becomes somehow unpredictable. It's like I no longer recognize him then and... that could scare me.  
I swallow slowly.

"Have you ever thought for a moment why they put us in that orphanage? Why we were educated there? What sort of thing they taught us?"

He grabs my shoulders and squeezes hard.

"Let go, what the hell!"

"Wake up, Mello! They wanted us to be investigators, not thieves and felons! Have you forgotten already why they put us there? Have you? Weren't you the one who wanted to succeed L, no matter what? Didn't you wanna be there to help others?!"

His breath echoes loud in contrast with the empty silence all around.

"What's become of you, Mello? Had you already strayed this far by the time you left—"

"Shut up!"

"—Wammy's House? Or did you just get a taste for it from all these—"

"Shut up!"

"—stupid mob guys? Or did you lose more than just your face in that explosion, and—"

"Shut up!!"

"—your mind, too?!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Just freaking stop already!"

And then he goes silent.  
I tear myself away from him and get up.

"What the hell do you know, anyway?!"

I shake my head and walk toward the window.

"You know nothing. You never really got into the job…"

"Yeah, that's true. But I always supported you, no matter what. I'm not stupid, Mello, I understand that sometimes you've gotta make sacrifices. But with you, it's like it's become second nature, and that really makes me sick."

I hate when we fight like this, especially when, deep down, I know he's right and I'm wrong. I sigh softly and tilt my head, vaguely aware of the scent from my borrowed sweater, and soon I hear him start to eat again. He's made up his mind, that's for sure, but I have other ideas. If he thinks he's somehow above hacking into the bank accounts of some rich bastards, then I guess I'll just have to force him.

_** -tbc-**_

_ Hm, only 3 chaptes left, till this story ends. But I already have a second season in mind, so stay tuned XD  
Lum-_


	8. Brown

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**

-Part 8-

_Sorry, that it took again so much time to update. But the fic is finished now, thanks God, so I'll upload the rest soon :)_

**xXxXxXxXx**

"Hey, aren't you supposed to enter in the numerical value first, before it starts passing through the combinations?"

I tapped the place I meant on the computer screen as I leaned over his left shoulder. I could tell he was getting a bit nervous, because, really, it's been a while since we've gotten physically close.

The past few days were crappy, to say the least.

We didn't really talk at first. I started injecting more often, and changing the bandages was a real pain in the ass every time he did it, but in the end I finally managed to force him to buy spare parts for the PC, as well as compatible software and hardware with the rest of the money, so that for once we'd be able to hack into bank accounts.

That's what we're doing now. That is to say, that's what _he's_ doing now, and I'm really just watching. But the way he's doing it seems kind of strange to me.

"Can you please just let me be the one to worry about how to extract several thousand dollars from Mr. Lyall's account? Yeah, thanks."

I make some kind of sarcastic sound as he flicks his tongue in annoyance; oh yeah, we make an awesome team, he and I.

My chin sinks gradually into his shoulder as my hands clutch the back of the chair and I stare forth at the screen. What's taking it so long, anyway?

We wait there in silence as the computer goes on calculating—numbers, spells, and sign combinations—all in remarkable speed. The small boxes on the display flicker so fast you couldn't follow them with your eyes if you tried.

I watch him slide back and forth in the chair and then go on to bite at a hangnail in the middle finger of his right hand, and I look away in disgust. Then I have an idea. I reach with my right hand to slide up the hem of his shirt, then lift my head and gaze down at the reddish scar there. It seems to have healed well by now...

"Does it still hurt?"

My voice comes softly as my fingertips run over that part of his skin. He takes a deep breath and pushes my hand away.

"Stop that!"

I laugh and turn to face the window, gazing out as I realize now it's gotten darker out without us noticing. So, what next? We'll finally have some money, but is it gonna be the same thing as always? Are we just gonna use it for weapons and equipment, socializing, and bribing and blackmailing people? And then some.

"All right, Matt. I want you to go downtown later and have a look around, there's some info I want. Now that Rod's dead the gangs are at each other's throat for dominance, and I wanna know who's out there. Will you do that for me?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay. I'm gonna stay here and wait for this dude... what'd you say his name was? Lif?"

"Yeah, Lif. He was recommended to me and I trust the source."

"Well, guess we'll see if he can salvage something of my face."

For a moment it seems like he's just on the verge of saying something, but he closes his mouth instead and remains silent. Seems he finally understands who's in charge around here.

"Oh and—you know our old place, the loft—I wanna go back there. Check out what the deal is with that and if it's guarded or anything, but you don't have to do that today."

"Yeah, okay."

He spins around in his chair and turns to me, staring.

...just what's that supposed to mean...?

"...what?!"

"You know, you look like crap. Isn't it time you took a shower? Sides, you totally need a new haircut."

"Yeah, why don't **you** cut it, then?!"

I hiss and turn away, offended. Yeah, I know, I haven't showered in days, weeks even, but it's not exactly easy to shower when half your body consists of open, burned flesh, and this bastard punk freaking knows that.

"I've got a better idea. I know this girl, she started out as a hairdresser but then got with the wrong crowd, you know how it is... well, anyway, I could call her up and ask her to come over to do your hair. Maybe she could give you some extensions on the right side or something, you know, so you'd look normal again..."

"...extensions? What do you think I am, a woman?"

But even as I glare at him, I know all the while it's really not a bad idea. If my hair were longer, it would definitely hide my scar.

"Yeah, okay. Call her up."

Two days later, there we were on the living room sofa waiting for Tasha, the girl who was gonna give me "a new style," as he said.

Lif, who wanted to have a look at my face, came by last night instead of the day before. He did in fact bring along some drugs and ointment that supposedly were gonna "work miracles." Yeah, can't wait to see that happen.

"Where is that bitch already? Wasn't she supposed to be here like ten minutes ago?!"

"Chill out, will ya? Maybe she has a hard time finding the place. We live in a hole in the wall, after all."

"Well, why couldn't you go get—"

He's suddenly startled by a knock at the door, jumping up and walking quickly toward the entrance. I bend forth as I hear the clear, bright voice of a woman as they greet one another.  
Kiss on the left cheek, kiss on the right cheek, I think I'm gonna be sick. Did we suddenly transform into some kind of cheesy sitcom?

He leads her in and now I can see her, too. She's a young woman of about twenty or so, with long brown hair, neatly groomed. Her face is narrow and pretty, and she's about his height, but wearing much less. Frayed jeans hotpants, black boots, and a tight, glittery top. Probably no bra, either.

"Mello, this is Tasha. Tasha, Mello."

"Hey."

I murmur slowly, the derisive glare in my eyes probably all too obvious, because what follows then is uncomfortable silence.

He scratches at the back of his head, coughing nervously.

"Right, then... well, guess I'll leave you two to do your thing, I'm off to go see about our old flat now. See ya in two hours or so..."

I merely nod and lean back, watching as he leaves and this girl remains standing there in the midst of our living room.

The sound of the door closing, and then we're alone.

She's staring at my scar in the most irritating way, until finally I have enough and get up.

"Get going already, I haven't got all day."

She places the big bag she brought with her on the floor and rubs her hands against her trousers, then, with a fake smile, takes a few steps toward me.

"So... Matt told me you wanna get... extensions, right? And a new haircut? Seems like you've suffered some serious injury..."

"That's none of your business."

I grab the office chair from the computer desk and roll it over to the middle of the room, then sit down and wait for her.

"Yeah, so... um... when did you last wash your hair? That is..."

"Lady, as you may have noticed, I have this thing going on with the entire left side of my body right now. It's not exactly easy for me to wash my hair!"

"Okay, okay! Yeah... okay... so... you want me to help you wash it then? You got a wash basin around here?"

No, of course we haven't got a wash basin, what are we, some kind of luxury hotel...?!

Just who in the hell did he hook me up with?! God, this woman is so freaking stupid, and the longer she's here, the more she irritates me.

I stand up without a word and begin walking toward the bathroom. Tasha follows me and takes a look around before reaching for a towel and his shampoo bottle.

"Here, take this and hold it in front of your face like this, then I'll be able to wash your hair while you're leaning forth."

I do as she says and it actually works, quickly and without any trouble. How come he never thought of doing this? Dumbass...

We go back to the living room and Tasha carefully rubs at my blonde locks with a towel, and then begins to cut them. Wow. You know, I've almost forgotten how nice it feels to have fresh, clean hair.

When she's done cutting, we walk over to the opposite wall where there's an electrical socket for her to blow-dry my hair.

"Okay... you wanna see what it looks like before we start doing the extensions?"

I grumble in agreement as she hands me a small mirror. I stare at my scar more than at my hair, but it actually seems okay now. Better than it was, anyway, even if it looks awkward on the left side.

"Go ahead and have a seat... this'll take a while, I think we'll need lots of strands..."

I gaze up at her as I wait, how she's searching for the right color and then begins arranging everything and finally plugs in an appliance that looks like a cross between a curling iron and hair straightener. She puts it back into its attachment and turns to face me again.

"I don't suppose there's... anything else... I can do for you?"

I freeze in place. She strokes my chest and then kneels down to undo the button and zipper at my loose jeans that he lent me. Her slender fingers with long, painted nails open the zipper slowly...

Just what in the hell is she doing? Is she gonna give me an intimate shave?

"What the—!"

"Shh... Matt told me you might be a bit frustrated and you could use some... distraction..."

I push her away indignantly, reaching to zip my fly back up.

"Yeah, is that what he told you? Well, he's wrong. Just do what you're paid to do and get outta here."

She appears offended and merely tosses her hair back over her shoulder, then begins working on the extensions. Quietly and efficiently, that's how I like it. Freaking loose broads...

When she's done, she reaches forth to cut one last time and then I can take a closer look at my new haircut in the bathroom mirror.

Well, one thing's for sure—this girl might look and act like a slut, but she can definitely cut hair. Guess everyone's blessed with some kind of talent...

I pay her and wait for him to come back home. Oh, he's in for it now.

_**-tbc-**_


	9. Darkblue

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**

-Part 9-

_Okay, in this part, you'll get some... non-con, I think. So if you're uncomfortable with this, then please don't read._

**xXxXxXxXx**

The clatter of the front door, then of keys dropping on the kitchen counter, a calm sigh, the flicker of a lighter, and finally a short light somewhere up the hall.

Here I am in the dark living room, waiting on the sofa for him to come in. The lights go on and then he's standing in the doorframe, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, removing his vest.

"There you are. I was starting to wonder where you could possibly be."

"Maybe with Tasha?"

He stops short and takes the cigarette butt between the index finger and middle finger of this left hand.

"...with Tasha? Yeah... whatever, why not... so uh... did everything work out okay? You feel satisfied now? Let me see—oh hey, it looks great, can't even tell it's fake."

"...do I feel _satisfied_?", I ask quietly, elbows resting on my thighs as I fold my fingers loosely over my mouth. "I dunno, man, what do _you_ think? I mean, with special attention like _that_..."

He exhales the smoke and throws his vest next to me on the couch, then steps over to open the window.

"Hey man, don't get mad about that. You seemed so... frustrated... and I thought that, you know, maybe you needed a woman..."

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong there, buddy."

He turns around, laughing as he leans his back against the windowsill, the cool evening air blowing gradually into the room.

"Yeah, obviously. But you weren't gonna let me help you."

Excuse me...?! I'm sick, okay, or something like that. Sex is the _last_ thing on my mind right now, what with my wound still not completely healed. And, besides, just what's that supposed to mean, "weren't gonna let me help you"...?! Last I remember, he and I didn't exactly sleep with each other, unless maybe in his _dreams_. Fucker...

"I get it, so that's how it is. You're pissed off and wanted to irritate me by inviting over the stupidest, sluttiest girl with the lowest IQ over."

"Hey, I'm not pissed off."

"Right."

"If that's how it was, I could go out and get with every whore in town."

"Heh. But that ain't what you want."

"..."

"You want _me_."

It's a simple fact, but it seems to hurt him no less. Hell, I know what it's like to want someone who doesn't want you back. I rise up slowly and pace toward him.

"Why don't you go for it, then? You afraid of me?"

He doesn't turn around, but merely finishes his smoke and flips the butt out the window, then spits after it. I hate when he does that.

"What's the matter, dude? You want me? Go for it, here I am standing right before you, and, man, I _just can't wait to get it_."

He closes the window and shakes his head.

"No, man, you don't really want me."

"Oh?" I reply, voice charged with sarcasm, "didn't seem to bother you the past few times, when you decided my dick—"

"_Shut up!_"

The next moment, there I am with my back against the wall and him right in front, and his hand clenches hard at my chin.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Mello. Keep this up and, believe me, dude, you'll regret it."

He lets go and strides angrily into the kitchen, and I watch, absently rubbing at my chin. Just what does he mean by that, _I'll regret it_...?

"And what about the loft?!" I call after him.

He replies something that sounds like _fuck you_, but it could also be _not now_; I really can't tell. I follow him and watch as he prepares instant ramen in a bowl filled with water in the microwave.

"...well...?!"

"Well _what_?"

"The loft! I told you I wanna go back there, right? Bigger place, sweet bathroom, my own freaking clothes..."

"Yeah, it's clean. I went there and everything's cool, no cops or security patrols or anything, no bugs or cameras inside. I checked everything out."

"Nice. What are we waiting for, then?"

"...for my dinner?"

Now I almost can't help laughing. I swear, he can be such an ass sometimes, but, to be honest, I wouldn't even be here if not for him, so, really, I can't decide whether to bust out laughing or stay pissed off.

I decide on the former, and a bit later we pack up all the important stuff from our little flat into the car and drive back to our old loft in the middle of the night. I hope we never have to come back again.

The next few days that follow are fast and stressful. He manages to set up a meeting with a few guys who think they're big shots here in LA now, but unfortunately the whole thing backfires and we get off merely with a slap on the wrist. Which seriously pisses me off.

He says I should just let it go, but I can't do that.

And last night we met with our old arms dealer, who used to trade with Rod back in the day; luckily for me this dude liked me, so we were able to buy a whole bunch of stuff from him.

I'll have my revenge today. Maybe that sounds lame, but, really, this may be the last time I'd be able to do something like this with him, because now that my scars are mostly healed, I'll finally be able to get to my real aim.

It's time to meet up with Near, something I totally do _not_ look forward to, but it has to be done. Other than the computer geek here at my side, nobody knows I'm still alive, really, and right now this may well be an advantage.

He throws the AK-47 onto the other weapons we have in the trunk and then slams it shut, as I toss the two long, black coats into the back seat and then get in.

A few moments later we're driving off, and I realize I'm a bit nervous. He is, too, I can tell, because he only smokes about half of each cigarette and then tosses it out the window and immediately puts a new one into his mouth. I turn my gaze away and look up at the sky as gradually it gets darker and darker.

The drive goes on for a while, but then we're finally there at last. An abandoned factory building with trash on the ground and weeds growing here and there. We can see the tire tracks near by, leading to three cars parked several yards down. The bastards are in there, then.

We exit the car in silence and put on the holsters, then our coats, before getting the weapons from the trunk.

"What if something goes wrong?"

I look at him and slam the trunk shut.

"Nothing's gonna go wrong. Trust me, we know what they're like; we storm in there and off them all. Seriously, don't even think about it, just do it. They'll be taken so much off guard they won't even have time to reach for their weapons, because all they'll be thinking about is trying to save themselves."

"But don't you think that's a bit much? I mean, why don't we just kidnap one of them and cut off his ear or something, do we really have to just_ kill them all_?"

"Because, dude, I freaking _hate_ when someone tries to fuck with me. You got it? Let's freaking go already!"

It seriously gets on my nerves sometimes how he pulls off this self-righteous act of moral superiority, but, strangely, somehow, that doesn't extend to his love affair with porn. Dumbass.

Okay. I need to chill out now, we're about to do it. I can't get all worked up right now.

I start walking forth and get closer to the broken down building. A dim sliver of light emanates outward from within the building and I hear him running quietly toward the cars.

I quietly move closer to the sliver of light I see and close my eyes in order to focus better on the sounds emanating from the distant room; It's gotta be pretty deep in there, judging by how quiet they sound.

"There's seven of them."

"Seven?"

"Yeah, I got a closer look of their cars."

I stare at him funny. How did he get _seven_ from three cars...?

"Yeah, whatever, just go over there and open the door. But keep it quiet, okay?!"

He nods and rushes past me, carrying his already cocked gun and holding it at the side of his head, other hand closing around the iron shaft in preparation to slide open the heavy door. I take a step back, assault rifle ready. Shit, at nearly fifteen pounds this bitch ain't no lightweight weapon, and only thirty bullets in there, too. But I change them fast, it'll work out.

The iron door squeaks a little when he opens it, and I pull the safety hook of my gun down fast, but the guys inside don't notice a thing.

Before us in the hallway there's a single bulb dangling from the ceiling, and it just barely gives any light at all.

He gives me a questioning gaze and I point into the building with my rifle, and then he exhales nervously and proceeds to walk ahead.

I'm close behind him as we move forth through the abandoned hallway, the voices growing gradually louder, until finally we stop behind the door. Luckily for us, it's made of wood, which'll make it easier. I swallow hard and turn to watch him as he disconnects the second weapon, releasing it and looking up at me expectantly. I give him one nod and we turn to face the door, and then he signals with the gun in his right hand.

I thought for sure my pulse would shoot up like crazy, but, oddly enough, I'm astoundingly cool and composed in this moment.

At the third signal we break down the door all at once and open fire right away. There's not even enough time to look around, and I merely let the automatic run as I aim at anything in the room that seems moving and masculine. All the while I press him farther into the room, because I have to get away from the door before it swings back.

It all takes mere seconds, and it's over before it ever really began. Loud gunshots, the clattering noise of the assault rifle, screams and calls of panic and the rumbling of furniture falling apart, and then silence.  
I'm about to reload when suddenly he stops shooting and drops his pistols. A thin stream of smoke fades slowly and I stand there out of breath as I gaze at the carnage before us.

Broken furniture, blood everywhere, bills and corpses. Seven guys, like he said—all dead. Except one, actually, who tries now to reach for his gun.

I walk closer, shaking my head as I take the Sig Sauer from my belt and shoot directly at his head without hesitation.

"That'll teach you to mess with me, asshole."

"Yeah, I think he won't do it again next time."

"Real funny, wise guy. Let's finish up here before you start with big speeches."

I take off my black coat and toss it to the floor, along with the AK and the pistol I had with me. Funny, I thought we'd need more stuff...

He does the same but then kneels down to insert one pistol into the side of his boot, and then places down the bomb, switching it on and getting to work on the timer.

"Okay, let's get the hell outta here."

We exit the building together and get in the car, and then he starts the engine. We drive a mere few yards away before the little factory blows up behind us.

"Well, that's that. Let's drive home, I'm beat."

But he doesn't say a word, and merely goes on driving down the freeway in silence. But the silence bothers me, and I turn to look at him as he stares out onto the road ahead, cigarette in his mouth.

"What's up?"

Silence.

"Your first time killing someone or...?"

"It ain't right, man."

"Yeah?! And I guess when some old guy screws a little girl in one of your porn movies, that's totally fine, right?"

"Man, that's bullshit. Those girls are legal and just pretend to be younger."

"Sure, right."

I gaze out the window in irritation, but I can't see a whole lot out there. It's gotten dark out and there are only a few streetlights along the dead, winding road, until finally there comes our exit into view—but he doesn't turn off.

I turn to look at him in irritation.

"Matt...?"

He doesn't reply and merely stares at the road ahead, then flicks the butt of his cigarette out the partly-open window.

"That was our exit, dude, why didn't you turn off...? Hello...?!"

But he goes on ignoring me, and now I'm staring to get pissed off.

"Turn the freaking car around and take me home _right now_. You can do whatever the hell you want after that, but first freaking take me home!"

But he only casts me a sideward glance before pulling off to the shoulder of the road, where he starts driving down a small dirt path.

"...the hell?!"

I can just barely make out a tree some distance before us as gradually we drive farther down the road. There are dead, dry fields all around and some withered bushes here and there. A few moments later he stops before the tree and turns off the engine. Keeping a tight rein on my temper, I wonder to myself, what in the hell is going on? Is he trying deliberately to piss me off, because if that's the case, it sure as hell is working.

I exhale loudly before turning to the side in order to open the car door, but then there's a small click. The door doesn't open. I bite down on my tongue as I jiggle the handle a bit, then finally throw myself back against the seat and turn to stare at him incredulously. Just what is the meaning of this? What's he trying to achieve?

He says nothing, hands firm on the steering wheel as he stares silently ahead.

"What's the deal, man, why'd you take us here?"

A few moments go by in silence, and his voice is low and serious when he replies.

"You know why we're here."

I feel my stomach begin to knot as I stare.

Yeah, I know. And he knows that I know what he's planning to do. And he knows I'm not cool with it, but he's still gonna do it.

That hurts, man. Is that how little respect you have for me?

He slides forth against the steering wheel with his forearms and leans against it, staring out through the windshield at the brush and the dark sky ahead. I wait quietly until he falls back into his seat and finally turns to look at me. His smile is almost gentle as he leans toward me and moves closer to my lips. It's all very slow, and I could push him away if I wanted, but I don't; instead, I just wait.

When our lips touch for the first time, I keep my eyes open, and I let him kiss me, but I don't kiss back. I merely stare ahead past him and then, after a few moments, push him away all at once and reach for the ignition, quickly turning the key that's still in and pressing down the button to unlock the doors.

I open the passenger-side door and get out right away, but I only run out a few yards before I reach the first tree and stop. What's the point. I lean my arms up against the tree in frustration and press my forehead to the back of my hand.

He follows out, of course, the bastard, until he's standing right there behind me.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

His voice is angry as he reaches out for my arms, but I hiss at him before releasing myself and taking a few steps back. Just what does he think to himself?!

But he reaches out for me again, and I turn around and try to punch him, and then he actually tries to kiss me again. We struggle for a few moments before he painfully grabs my upper arm, and it hurts because of the still-sensitive skin there. I pull at his wrist as he drags me back toward the car.

I feel drops of rain begin to fall on my face; somewhere in the distance, there's thunder.

"Let me go, asshole! I said, let me go! Just who in the hell do you think you are?! Fuck you man, ahhh! That hurts, you fucker, I said, let _go_!"

He opens the back door and practically tosses me into the car. I land gracelessly in the back seat and before I can fight back, he comes in after me and closes the door behind him. He's sitting astride my hips now and leans closer to hold me down with his weight. I slowly begin to understand what he meant the other day when he said I'll regret it. Matt, you ass...

"Mello..."

I look up into his eyes, the sound of the rain growing louder and louder outside. I'm well aware that it's useless to resist; he'd just hurt me more, because he's the stronger out of the two of us.

He gazes back down, and I hear him breathing quietly through his nose. It's cramped and uncomfortable there in the back seat, and I don't even wanna think about how much more uncomfortable it's about to get if I don't get him to change his mind.

"Don't do this, man," I say quietly, trying my best to remain serious and calm.

He reaches for his goggles and pulls them off his head, then tosses them carelessly to the front of the car.

"No, I can't wait anymore."

And then I feel his lips at my neck, at the sensitive place where my normal skin melts together with the scar tissue, and I can't suppress a low groan. When he gets closer to my mouth I turn my head sideways, frowning as I stare at the backrest, and then turn my gaze up to the back window as he slides gradually farther down along my body and finally pushes up the hem of my vest in order to kiss my stomach.

Outside, the raindrops pour down against the windowpane, glittering pale in the wan light of the crescent moon. The sky up there is dark blue, nearly black, and through the rain I can just barely see the stars.

Soft strands of hair tickle my belly, and then I realize he's unravelling the laces at the front of my leather trousers. He pulls them down a bit, cool fingers wandering over my hips, and then I feel a warm mouth come down on my left hipbone.

My stomach feels strange, with a mixture of anxiety and the ever-rising desire to throw up—but we don't talk. He merely goes on doing his thing, and I let him.

All is silent but for the quiet expiration of our breath, the rustling of clothes and the steady drumming of rain on the roof above.

He removes my boots, then my tight leather trousers, and I lift up my hips as he does so. A few moments later, they're somewhere on the floor between my boots and his vest.  
He then moves back up and leans down over me, hand resting on my right cheek. Are you kidding me? What's with all that bullshit, trying to act all gentle now? We both know how this is gonna end. I only wanna get it over with, the sooner the better, because, really, I know he won't calm down until he gets it.

How depressing; he's the only person I actually like at heart—and then this.

His hand moves lower then as he reaches for the seam of his stripy shirt to pull it over his head in one flowing motion, and almost automatically my gaze wanders to his hip, where right away I notice the thin scar and can't hold back from touching it. His hand comes down on mine and he bends down toward me again.

My breath comes loud through my nose, and I feel my nostrils distend as he tries again to kiss me; this time, I don't turn away.  
His lips feel soft against mine, which are dry and rough; it feels odd.  
I force myself to shut my eyes and try uselessly to relax, but the clinking sound of his belt buckle startle me again.

"Shh, calm down..."

He presses me down again and I reach up to hold him back, the palms against his shoulders.

"No..."

One of his hands comes down over my mouth, while the other works at undoing his fly. My fingers dig into his shoulders and, for a moment, I think his skin is actually too soft for a boy, and that his upper body looks really hot, despite the fact that he never works out. Well, not to the best of my knowledge, anyway.

I can feel the hard, young muscles fluid directly under his skin. Not a single bit of fat, but only skin, flesh, muscles, and bones.

Moments later he's pushing my thighs farther apart and kneels down between them; my left foot's down on the floor, my right heel up on the backrest.

I feel a wave of heat travel through my entire body, and then suddenly I'm cold and covered in unpleasant goose bumps on my arms and thighs. My breath hitches faster with every passing moment, until finally I open my mouth a bit.

His hand passes over my mouth, my neck, and then down to my chest, where it comes to rest over the thin, black leather of my vest. Right over my heart, that's beating faster and more strongly than usual.

"Damn, your heart's racing like crazy..."

His voice comes low and raspy, hoarse almost, and I inhale loudly as I press myself deeper into the seat cushion. He pulls his jeans and briefs down just a little and then reaches over to stroke the inside of my thigh, then squeezes a bit too hard at my behind before dragging me closer to his lower body.

I look away and my short nails dig into his skin out of strain. Does he just wanna do it like that...?

I hold my breath, until I feel him suddenly against me--and my breath hitches, the soft sound breaking the silence and somehow oddly loud.

"You gotta relax or I can't en—"

"Ahh! Stop it! I..."

Astonished, I realize that he actually does stop—but not for long. I just barely begin to calm down when I see that he's licking at two fingers of his right hand, but only to moisten the tip of his own freaking dick.

Wow, unbelievable, but, really, I hardly have time to think of this at all or even get mad before he tries to push in again.

It hurts like a bitch and I feel my eyes gloss over and my vision becoming blurry, but I'm not gonna cry, yeah, I won't give him that pleasure.

I bite down on my tongue and pull hard at his hair, finally kicking my right heel right into his back, because, hell, I can't take this anymore.

I feel myself break out in sweat all at once, hot and cold at the back of my neck, at the undersides of my knees, the crooks of my arms and on my face, on my cheeks, right at the sides of my nose—

I'm hot and cold in turns. He stays in the same position, then leans his forehead down against my right shoulder, the warm vapour of his breath coming fast against my skin.

I realize suddenly that he's trembling, but I say nothing and merely purse my lips tightly together as he starts to move after what seems like ages.  
It's slow and painful at first, and I can tell that it strains him a great deal as my hands try holding uselessly onto his sweaty back. With every thrust I feel his hip bones dig into the inside of my thighs; I'll have bruises there for days to come...

My gaze turns again to the darkness outside, where rain has gotten heavier. I watch as wet rivulets flow down the windowpane, which grows more and more foggy with steam from the inside—but it's not warm in here. I'm freezing my ass off, despite the fact that we're both sweating, our bodies emitting heat.

His breath comes faster now, the sound of expiration ever louder, and, frustrated, I close my eyes. I'm neither turned on nor any less in pain, and it's all merely annoying and horrible and I really just want to be in my own bed, sleeping—but, thankfully, it all ends pretty fast.

He comes; I don't.

He remains on me for a bit longer, waiting for his heart and breath to calm down, and then lifts himself off me at last, clumsily, and glances briefly in my direction. I look away, and he pulls out and moves over to sit up on the backseat over by the window, fly still undone, and places my foot in his lap, because otherwise it'd be behind his back.

I also sit up, slowly, supporting myself with my left hand on the backrest behind me, other hand reaching down between my thighs, where the blood and sperm mix together bitterly.

"Fuck..."

The word comes quiet and the rain is still loud outside, but he must've heard me. But he looks away, right elbow resting against the windowpane and his chin against his hand. His other hand is still in his lap, on my foot.

I tilt my head back against the backrest and watch him pensively. Is that what you wanted, Matt? Are you happy now?

Minutes pass, then hours, and we're still there, sitting in the back of the car in silence, freezing our asses off. My muscles are all in pain, and my opening even more. Then at last he pushes my foot away from his lap and raises his hips as to fasten his pants and his belt back up. He kneels down and reaches for my leather trousers, then hands them to me in silence;

I never wear underwear.

I take them and put them on as he climbs over the seats to the front of the car and then finally starts the engine.

After I finish getting dressed, I just lie there on the backseat cushions. I don't care what the hell I'm lying in, I just don't wanna look at him right now. Turning over to face the backrest, I notice he's turning the car around to drive back home.

I close my eyes slowly; I'm so exhausted...

_**-tbc-**_


	10. Bright

**A Whiter Shade of Pale**

-Part 10-

_Okay, the last part, have fun :)_

**xXxXxXxXxXx**

When I finally come to, I find myself bent up in a strange position, and I cling to his neck because, for a little while, I suddenly feel like I'm falling. But he's carrying me in his arms up the stairwell to our apartment.

"Why didn't you take the elevator?"

"I'd have to drop you to get the grid open."

I sigh quietly to myself and don't make the slightest effort to jump out of his arms; carrying me upstairs after I fell asleep in the car is the least he could do after all he's done to me. And yet, somehow, it's kinda nice of him not to have woken me up. But he still practically drops me down to the ground when we get to the door, to get his key out.

Once inside, I wade through the darkness, heading straight for the corner of the loft where our bed is, and while, really, it's made merely of two overlaid mattresses, it's comfortable no less. Clothes and shoes still on, I wrap myself in the sheets, pulling the blanket over me in attempt to warm up.

I feel cold and tired and exhausted, and also dirty and disgusting and, really, I'd love a hot shower right now, but my urge to sleep is even stronger.

I can hear him wandering through the loft for a while before at last he joins me, kneeling at the side of the bed silently to pull off my shoes. But when again I feel him tugging at the laces of my leather pants, I kick him square in the stomach and turn around. He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

"Dude, that's too tight to sleep in. You should take it off."

I turn in the sheets unwillingly, thinking that, once again, he's right, so I finally give in. I reach down and unravel the laces as soon as possible, then pull the tight things off and toss them to the floor, where they soon are joined by my vest; the rosary, however, I place carefully atop the nightstand.

Completely naked, I curl up under the big blanket which I pull completely to myself, and eventually he turns out the lights and heads to bed, too. He pulls on the blanket, but I hold it tightly to myself and scoot away.

"C'mon, Mello, that's mean."

"That's what you get. You don't deserve any better."

"Don't be like that, I'm cold."

Yeah, I was cold too, in the car, but did you give a flying fuck? But I'm too exhausted to argue; that can wait till tomorrow. I give up and draw a bit closer, lifting up the blanket so he can climb in. All in all, I like the feel of his naked body next to mine. It's been a while.

But that whole thing back there in the car, what with clothes still on and just the whole way it happened—that was seriously messed up.

He buries his nose in my hair and murmurs something incoherent. I can't make out what he said, but that's not important right now; I just feel content with the peaceful atmosphere now. In the past, I would probably have kicked his ass so hard by now, but, to be honest, I think now I can understand how frustrated he must've felt. Yeah, it doesn't make up for what he did to me, but I've hardly ever been nice to him.

Right now, I just feel so disappointed with what happened—but we're gonna talk. Tomorrow.

And then—

hopefully—

everything will get better.

.

_**-the end-**_

.

_Well, first of all, a big thanks to Nifen, Ito-chan and Suki from Animexx for helping me translating this fic. And another big thanks to Billie and flagfish, who beta'd the story for me. Especially with the last 3 chapters flagfish did a great job, imho! Thank you, thank you a gazillion times over! I owe you!!_

_And last but not least – thanks to all the lovely ppl who read this and gave me feedback. Srzly, that and the wish to submit this fic to crimsonrose's contest, encouraged me to not drop this fic. I'm happy I finally managed to finish a fic, which wasn't a one-shot, lol._

_Actually I was planning on writing a sequel to this fic to stuff all my dirty kinks into one fic, lol. But meanwhile I think it may be to dirty for any website to post it up there, because it'll get deleted anyway. So yeah... dunno, if I'll do it and then translate it again._

_If you wanna know when I post the sequel somewhere, IF I write it at all, then let me know and I'll message you, when it's time._

_Okay, guys, thanks for reading and stay tuned._

_Lum-_


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